Bruford
by polka-dotted-pengiuns
Summary: “I don’t think you have any room to say I’m not dumb. I let you drink your weight in cheap alcohol for my own amusement. I’d say that’s very dumb of me.” Roger discovers that Mark is a talkative drunk. Penis names are discussed.


**Bruford**

Roger couldn't help but smile as he watched Mark go all Double Oh Seven on his living room rug.

"Mark, you're drunk." He laughed. 

Mark glared at Roger and turned his attention to the bottle of cheap Champaign once more. He drank heavily and sloppily. That's what he is, thought Roger with some amusement, a heavy sloppy drunk.

"Not drunk," protested Mark. He grinned stupidly and arched his back as he leaned himself over the back of the couch . He giggled. "_Tipsy_." He fell.

Mark propped himself up on all fours and opted to "Spiderman" himself across the floor, turning his head this way and that in his search of imaginary foe. Tripped and fell.

"Tipsy" he said again as he lay on his back. Another giggle. He stuck his tongue out to reach the nearly empty bottle on the floor next to him. Roger smiled and pushed it to his roommate with his toe.

"Just don't let this be a habit, okay? I'm not going to be your enabler."

Mark paid no attention and continued to roll around on the floor. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…"

Roger cocked his head and wondered if this slavering drunken mess contaminating his floor had really been Mark at one point. He stopped wondering when Mark began trying to place all of his empty bottles in a neat little pile. Roger became less amused when Mark tried to take his own bottle.

"Hey! I'm not done with that!"

"Oh." Another giggle.

Roger felt himself roll his eyes. "Mark, the only thing worse than your tolerance for alcohol is your luck with women."

Mark rolled himself onto his stomach and Roger had to give him props, he _was_ an unusually limber drunk. But then again, he'd never really been sober enough in the presence of anyone this smashed to make observations. Roger smiled, he'd just figured out the mystery of why people had the best sex while drunk.

"Women, HA!" laughed Mark. "Who needs women?"

As Mark hoisted himself up, Roger became immediately less amused. For one, Mark wasn't wearing any pants and he'd seen more of Mark's Happy Place than he'd ever had any desire too. And for two, because Mark was probably one of those _talkative_ drunks.

A very acrobatic talkative drunk who didn't like pants.

"What are they good for—

"Sex." Roger supplied.

Mark struggled to find a retort and quickly gave up. "_Other_ than sex. They're loud and messy and they only want you for your balls." He stopped rolling and stared at Roger. "They give you a certain tension in your pants." He said. "And its stupid because they do that and then go off and leave you for someone who doesn't even _have_ balls to _get_ tense and then you're stuck here. You get used and tossed to the side for someone who doesn't even _have_ what you were getting _used_ for." Mark dropped his bottle on the ground. "Women are stupid."

Roger got the feeling that they weren't discussing women in general but a certain one.

Mark was skipping backwards in circles and speaking more rapidly, he was hitting his climax before he passed out. He was opening another bottle.

"Mark, I'm not going to help you if you end up choking on your own vomit tomorrow." Roger smiled but found himself a little worried. In high school Mark had known his limit, now he wasn't so sure. He was guessing the weight they had all lost could be to blame, but still wondered how someone could get so smashed off of Champaign. Cheap shit at that.

"Yes you will."

Roger had to admit he was right.

"You know," said Mark, matter of factly, "people name everything, their homes, their possessions, some people name their _dick_."

Roger couldn't believe he was having this discussion with Mark, whose favorite phrase for a while was "Well yes it happens, but we don't have to talk about it". He'd been such an innocent freshman…

"Really now?"

Mark nodded too hard, his facial expression turning into one of mildly angry disbelief as he opened another bottle. Roger almost stopped him.

"Yes! But its usually something short and pitiful, like Fred! Or— or Larry!"

Roger expertly hid a smile. "You seem to feel very strongly about this."

Mark nodded too hard again. "Yes! Yes I do!"

"Well what kind of name should you choose? Tell me Mark, what kind of name." Roger knew he shouldn't egg him on, but he couldn't find it in himself to resist. Collins was the same way/

"It should be something big long dumb and ugly! Like— like _Bruford_."

"Or Fillmore?"

"That's not dumb Roger! Its gotta be dumb!"

"I don't think you have any room to say I'm not dumb. I let you drink your weight in cheap alcohol for my own amusement. I'd say that's very dumb of me."

Mark stumbled over to the couch and patted Roger's arm softly. "I'm not saying _you're _not dumb. I'm saying your _penis names _aren't dumb."

Roger was about to thank him for the sentiment when and send him quietly to bed when Mark flew off the handle again. "People just need to pick a fucking name for their fucking penis! There's too many _euphemisms_! That's all there is, euphemisms euphemisms _euphemisms_! Not only do we have a penis, but we have a hoo-ha and a dick and a cock and a whacker and a pisser and a weenie and a wang and a God damn ba-donk-a-donk!"

Roger began to laugh as Mark geared himself up for another rant but stopped as he began to sway.

"Mark?"

Nothing.

"Shit!"

Marks eyes rolled in his head and eventually closed as he began to fall, his grip on his bottle slackened and hit the ground hard, shattering. Roger shot up off the couch, moving faster than he thought possible and barely managed to catch his friend before he gave himself a concussion.

Roger was going to take Mark to his bed but stopped at the smell coming from the contents of the bottle spilled on the floor. Roger started, it couldn't be…

He shifted his passed out friend and dipped his finger in it, then brought his finger to his lips to taste.

Vodka.

"Mark, you fucker…"

AN- So, first Rentfic ever so I hope its not too bad. It was only written because my dad told me a story about when his friend was drunk, and I wanted to fit a story around it. His friend gave the whole Bruford bit, but the rest is mine. Have a good New Years and feel free to drop a review to help a new Rent writer out : ).


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